


I Make No Promises As To Historical Veracity

by copperbadge



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Crossdressing, Gen, Time Travel, archaic coffee rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-16
Updated: 2009-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:04:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperbadge/pseuds/copperbadge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto copes by inventing the coffee machine. Gwen copes by crossdressing. Shortfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Make No Promises As To Historical Veracity

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to RM posting **[a steampunky coffeemaker](http://rm.livejournal.com/1628025.html)** and demanding a Torchwood steampunk AU. Which is not really AU so much as an unexplored branch, really. The original comment is on that post, this is the expanded and enhanced version. 
> 
> Now **[a podfic](http://audiofic.jinjurly.com/i-make-no-promises-as-to-historical-veracity)** by Dreamwaffles!

The workbench in the tiny flat filled most of one end of the sitting-room. Gwen wasn't sure where he'd acquired it, but Ianto had his secrets and ways. It made her feel a little like she was back in the Sherlock Holmes stories she'd read as a child, though she was by no means certain that either of them were Sherlock Holmes. A pair of Watsons, getting through as best they could, she supposed. 

The flat served their needs, anyway, and the rent was cheap. Two bedrooms, a sitting room, meals fixed by the wife of the landlord and not unappetising, if a little heavier than they were used to. 

Ianto was bent over the broad wooden table, working busily away. Most days when she came off shift -- was it a week now? Two? -- he would still be at work, but she'd pulled the short straw for an overnight. She counted back, and realised it was the first time she'd seen him in nearly three days. 

"What are you doing?" she asked, as he fitted a piece of piping to a glass beaker. Ianto merely lifted his head from the workbench and gave her a nod of greeting before turning back to his work.

"I have decided that I am not," he said, returning to where he was adjusting strange dials, "going to be stuck in the nineteenth century without proper coffee. I can cope with the mediocre food and the intolerable hygiene, but not without coffee. Not anymore!"

"Where can you get the -- "

"Beau Brummel!" Ianto continued, wrathfully, screwing a clamp shut over a beaker. "He may have inspired generations of male fashion but have you encountered the man?"

"No, but Iant -- "

"Because I have! He came into the shop yesterday. He's repulsive and backwards. This whole century can kiss my arse. I'm building a teasmade next. And if I can get the right chemicals, a proper refrigerator. And a stun gun," he added thoughtfully.

"But what about the beans?" Gwen asked.

"Beans?" Ianto turned to look at her blankly.

"Coffee beans."

"Oh," he waved a hand. "They import them. They're not complete savages. Only mostly. Jack had better find us and get us back through the Rift soon," he added. Then he paused. "Sorry. How was your night? Anything interesting happen?"

"Well, I went out for breakfast and George Sand invited me to dinner," Gwen said slowly. "She was having breakfast too."

Ianto raised his head slowly and turned to regard her. She shifted uneasily from foot to foot, cursing the uncomfortable police boots she was wearing.

"I think it was in the spirit of transvestite solidarity," she said. 

"Well. Erm. You do look brilliant in that uniform," Ianto offered. Something hissed and spat deep in the bowels of the coffee machine he was building. "And in another few days you can ask her to have coffee with us. How's the job?"

"Coppering is coppering," Gwen shrugged, then caught his meaning. "Oh! No, nobody's figured out I'm a woman yet. Except Sand. What...about you?"

"Tailoring is tailoring, I suppose," he replied, but he muttered _"Stupid Beau Brummel"_ under his breath. "I tidied the flat, by the way, and I'm almost done with your waistcoat and trousers."

He turned back to his work but didn't actually start working; instead he paused, then slowly straightened and looked at her. 

"Wait. Does this make me the wife?" he asked finally.

Gwen grinned and kissed him on the cheek. "But you're such a _good_ wife, Ianto."


End file.
